


Power Dynamics

by Broba



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon Gay Character, GAY GAY GAY, Gay, Gay Sex, Gunplay, I was drinking okay I regret nothing, M/M, RACK - Freeform, gun fetish, gun fetisk, sex sex sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme prompt- gun-involving power relationship between Dirk and Jake. I don't even know, man. I'm drunk right now. I'm drunk off my ass, I don't even. BASTARDS. I work and I work and what's it all for? Iunno. EVERYONE HATE ME. Oh well screw it, I liked the prompt so I'm doin this. Jake and Dirk- Getting It ON With Guns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Dynamics

  
  
Jake danced along the bush-lined thoroughfare between the endless vista of trees. He ducked from cover to cover, rolling and leaping between safe points. He knew Dirk was somewhere close, and that he would be be forgiven the slightest lapse in concentration. That was Dirks' style- he wouldn't attack directly, he would wait for Jake to make some little slip, and take advantage immediately. He turned the slightest weakness of his opponent against them. It make Dirk a mercurial and flighty opponent, there was nothing solid to aim for. Having said that, Jake was a superb combatant himself, and if Dirk gave him an opening he knew how to exploit it to the full. The flaw in Dirk's strategy was that it depended on Dirk doing everything right, and there was no allowance for chance or fate. When Dirk's little plans went right there was no stopping them, but when they went wrong there was no salvaging them.  
  
Jake grinned grimly as he surveyed the open space formed by a natural clearing of trees before him. It was a perfect trap, but then Dirk knew that and knew that he knew Dirk knew that. And he knew that Dirk knew that he knew that Dirk knew that- and so on. Jake made a quick mental calculation and decided that the risk was worth the reward. He tossed a pebble into the clearing as though he were cautious but not too cautious, then he ducked left and rolled. When Dirk leapt from cover he was ready. He knew Dirk, he knew how far Dirk would extend himself when he thought he had a winning position, and this time Jake had planned just a few too many steps ahead. They rolled and battled and wrestled, but in the end it was Jake's pistol pressed against the soft flesh under Dirk's chin, and it was Dirk's blade-arm pressed to the side by Jake's off-hand. A tactic that wouldn't work every time, but on this day the tossed coin had landed with Jake's face up.  
  
“Do you give?”  
“Fuck, you're getting quicker, English.”  
“Answer the question.”  
“I'm going to fuck you up next time you try this,”  
Jake pressed the barrel of his gun upward, forcing Dirk's head back painfully, “this is loaded!”  
Dirk paused, breathing heavily, “I know,”  
“Do you give?”  
“No. Fuck you, you're not going to do shit.”  
“You think so?”  
“You're all talk, English.”  
  
Jake pointed the pistol off to the side, and discharged a round of .45 ACP into a treetrunk, where it left a very visible impression. The retort was deafeningly loud and when he pressed the tip of his gun to the bulge increasingly forming in Dirk's pants the taller man yelped in pain.  
“Too hot?”  
“Fuck! Yes!”  
Jake pointed the pistol away again and fired, and this time when he touched the tip of the barrel to Dirk's crotch there was a slight hiss of burning cloth.  
“Now?”  
“Fuck, that- fuck!”  
“Give! I have the rest of the clip to go!”  
Dirk gritted his teeth. Fifteen bullets to a magazine, and English was entirely serious. He just ducked his head in a brusque nod.  
“You give?” Jake demanded.  
“Ah- alright.”  
  
Jake grinned pertly. Their little games always ended with one or the other of them accepting defeat and then their other, larger games could begin. This was a situation they had both been in before, both on the upper and the lower side of the balance of power, but their needs were growing more and more intense. It was no longer enough for either of them to know that the other was armed; they had to threaten each other with more then just words and firm intentions.  
  
Dirk pressed forward, and Jake responded by pushing back. There was always the possibility of reversal in their game and he would not allow that. He had to maintain his position of power through the application of force. He tucked the barrel of his pistol under the edge of Dirk's jaw and shoved the man, snarling.  
“This is a genuine M1911, you know that?”  
“So?”  
“Original model. With all the time-shenanigans that have been going on I can't even be sure, but it's at least fifty years old by now I think. Do you know what that does to a trigger mechanism?”  
“Go ahead and tell me.”  
“Fucks it up.” Jake pulled his left-hand pistol out, he placed the barrel of this against Dirk's jaw too, forming an inverted-vee shape with the two guns. “Browning hi-power, 1962. Reliable, fast action but pretty old too by now. I keep it in my left hand because it only needs a feather-touch to fire, I adjusted the trigger spring action myself you know.”  
“Fascinating.”  
“If should be. Because if you twitch, or if I get startled, then one or the other of them will go off and take your dashed head clean off.”  
“Yeah. Fun times.”  
“Take off your pants.”  
  
Dirk had no choice. He knew that Jake wasn't lying about the pistols, he knew that a slight nudge might well cause an accident- that possibility, against all of the good intentions in the world, made their game what it was. He unbuttoned his jeans and let them slide down to his ankles, carefully stepping out of them one foot at a time.  
“Good boy,”  
“You're enjoying this too much.”  
“What're you going to do about it, mate?”  
Dirk glanced down, then up again. He could feel the cold gunmetal press against his skin.  
“Nothing.”  
“That's what I thought.”  
  
Jake licked his lips. They had played this game several times before and the danger of the game was not that they might go to far in threatening one another but that they might not go far enough. Too many times they had come so close only for one or the other for them to hold back at the last moment, to indicate that in fact they were waiting for permission or for the other to tell them that, yes, the thing was welcomed. That feeling immediately killed the mood, and they had gone that way before. They had learned- slowly, equally, pressing each other- that they would not hold back and they wanted no more quartered given then should be offered. In short, the game was only fun when it was real. In short, it was a contest and if either of them were to show fear or reticence then they would lose. It had become far more dreaded a thought to them both that they lose, rather then that they had to endure the whims of the other.  
  
“I hate you,” said Jake smartly, “you're always trying to figure me out!”  
“Hey, hang on a second-”  
Jake had said it to throw Dirk off balance, and it worked.  
“Shut up! And your shorts!”  
  
What Dirk wore was closer to feminine boy-short panties then actual male underwear but Jake neither knew nor cared. Dirk pulled them down with a frown, mouthing silently and  trying to explain that this was not necessary. Jake responded only by slapping him across the cheek with the hard tip of the M1911. The post-style sight drew blood, opening Dirk's lip nearty.  
“Shit! You fucking- okay stop,” Dirk smarted, “stop, stop, that fucking hurt.”  
“I know!”  
Jake hit him again. This was the point at which the game turned into something more. It only counted when it hurt, when it was unwanted.  
“I'm getting a little bloody tired of you, Dirk!”  
“What?”  
“I mean it! You're always messing about with me, and I'm tired of the whole shebang. I'm sick of it all, enough!”  
“Jake?”  
Jake hit him again, and noted with some pride the look of hurt in Dirk's eye. He had touched something a little further beyond their play, something beyond what they had touched on previously. He delighted in pushing the game past that boundary.  
  
Dirk was a little stunned, only enough to offer a minimal resistance. Jake pushed him and turned him, forcing him down on all fours, and ripped down his ridiculous little panties once and for all. Dirk had only enough time to offer a token protest before he felt something- something cold, but warmed a little by the way it had been jammed up under his jaw, pressed up between his legs. Jake shoved the blunt barrel of the M1911 between Dirk's thighs, pressing the tip insistently to the place where a brief strip of tender, sensitive flesh marked the long boundary between the base of his scrotum and his anus. Jake dragged the barrel over that narrow perineum and Dirk cried out. It was a low, hoarse wordless cry not of any kind of meaning but in reaction to this pure violation.  
“You like that?” Dirk asked softly, almost too softly to hear.  
“No! Jake, I really, really don't like it, I need you to stop now.” Dirk was keeping his voice level, in a way that Jake knew meant he was trying to sound very serious. They had long ago eschewed any kind of a safe word and now the only way to bring the game to a halt was to convince the other that it had gone too far. Jake had fallen for this ploy before, only for Dirk to mock him later telling him that he was a soft-touch who had given in too easily. Not this time- he pressed, jabbing the hard tip of his loaded weapon into Dirk's perineum, eliciting a fine scream from the swordsman.  
“Take that!”  
“Jake! Ja-hay-hay-hayke!”  
Dirk was just yelling his name now. Without realising it, Jake had been forcing and twisting the tip of his gun against that one particular soft spot of flesh, the space that was known to all men as something different and strange. Dirk was squirming now, batting behind him at Jake, but still too gently to push him away. Jake noted with a  dispassionate grin that when he pressed just -so- and twisted -thus- that he got the best out of his victim.  
“Jake,” Dirk sobbed softly, “you win, okay? I'm not going to try an' stop you. Let's just have fun, okay? You win, it's fine, I'll suck you off.”  
Jake loved the touch of Dirk's tongue, and Dirk knew it. It was another trap. A good trap, one which might have ensnared him in the past, but he was ready this time.  
“You want me to go easy on you?”  
“Yes!”  
“Sounds like you're just saying what I want to hear, you know.”  
“I'm not! I mean, I am but I'm not really! Look, you win, okay? I'm saying it, I'm being cool about the whole thing, you win! You don't have to prove anything, you get to be sucked off, we're good!”  
  
Jake stared at him with half-lidded eyes. He didn't move from his position, holding Dirk still, but pulled back the hammer on the Browning. The click was very audible, even though it was entirely unnecessary to cock it that way, and he heard Dirk whimper. It was what he needed, without really realising that he had wanted it. He had been on the losing end of the game too many times, he had whimpered at the feel of a blade at his throat and opened his willing mouth to receive Dirk's victorious cock too many times, to show mercy now.  
  
“Fuck you, pal.”  
“Jake?”  
“I'm sick of your attitude.”  
  
Jake had not a doubt in his mind that Dirk would do the same in that position and whenever the slightest quiver of mercy entered his soul he closed his eyes, reviewing the humiliating ways that Dirk had forced him to show obedience, and then when he returned to wakefulness he found that he had inevitably forced his gun into Dirk in some way. He looked down, and Dirk was lapping at the tip of his guns. Jake held them out at arm's length, forming a cross shape that would ruin Dirk's mortal skull with a twitch of his fingers. He saw Dirk's tongue lashing over the barrel of both guns and knew he had this man at his whim.  
  
“I'll blow your fucking head clean off.”  
Dirk began to lick more thoroughly, more honestly. He began, at last, to show the honest eagerness that Jake loved to see.  
“Careful! You'll make me twitch!”  
Dirk stopped suddenly, trying to nuzzle Jakes hands, to place his head away from the deadly barrel of the loaded guns.  
“I didn't say you could stop, though.”  
“Jake, look-”  
“Do it.”  
  
Dirk opened his eyes fully and stared upward, all he could see was the stock of a gun, and beyond it the arm of Jake leading up. He parted his lips painfully wide and accepted Jake's gun in- willingly. He lapped his tongue over the metal, gulping aimlessly so that Jake would have something to hear, to know that he was doing as he was told without trying anything stupid. Jake span him and slapped him down, and he knew well enough what to do. He didn't bother trying to right himself, and sprawled on his knees with his rump up in the air. Now was the time, normally, that weapons would  be forgot and they would have sex. Dirk screamed as he felt the hard, angular end of the hi-power press between his buttocks and force into him, and suddenly he was being violated by the loaded weapon. He was terrified, it was more then they had every done before and aside the fact that it was certainly damaging him with the hard edges of cold metal it was a thing that could kill him instantly and it was too much for him. This was beyond all his plans, all his schemes, all his sense of fair play in a game that had been agreed in unspoken terms between them.  
  
Jake reached out, more through instinct then design, and clasped at a fistful of Dirk’s hair, yanking back the short hairs at the back of his neck. Dirk automatically flexed his back and cried out, but Jake didn’t do it because he was interested in hearing anything- the gun jammed into Dirk's backside twisted thoroughly eliciting a scream of mixed delight and pain, and the delight that comes alone from pain.  
“You fucking- you shit!” Dirk gasped.  
“Louder!”  
“I don't like this! Okay! Fucking- stop! Ah!”  
“I don't believe you, I see a lot going on down there Dirk. You have a lot going on, old man.”  
“Oh, you little shit! I'm going to get you for this!”  
Jake suddenly stopped, holding still, and pointed the pistol in and up.  
“Say that again.”  
“Uh... J-Jake?”  
“Say it! Again! Louder!”  
“No,”  
“No? Not got anything to say?”  
Dirk bit down on his lip hard enough to bring out blood and shook his head mutely. Jake just grinned.  
“That's what I thought.”  
“Stop it,”  
“Tell me you like it.”  
“Uh-h-h,” Dirk shook his head violently.  
“Tell me how much you love it!”  
“No. No!”  
“Fuck you! Say it! I mean it!”  
  
Dirk felt something shift inside in unpleasantly and cried out. He was shaking now, shaking like a dog in cold rain, shaking and Jake was holding him by the scruff of his necl. He called out, he said what was expected of him.  
“I love it.”  
“Again!”  
“Love it.”  
“Louder!”  
“Fuck! I luh, love it!”  
Jake stroked a hand down Dirk's twisting, coiling spine, stroking him with the butt of a gun.  
“Good boy,” he said slowly, “now you can come.”  
Dirk screamed.  



End file.
